Calif. police: Todd Klarkowski, 2 others slain in deal gone wrong

MacKensey Klarkowski sits in her Boulder home last week with a photo of herself and her late common-law husband Todd Klarkowski, who was killed execution-style Feb. 5 in Sonoma County, Calif. Investigators allege Klarkowski and two other men were killed during a deal to move 70 to 80 pounds of marijuana from California to Colorado. (Paul Aiken / Daily Camera)

On the last full day of his life, Todd Klarkowski stood in his house on Gilbert Street in Boulder and asked his common-law wife whether he should wear his prized and well-worn boots or his sneakers for an overnight business trip to California.

"He was set in his ways. He'd ask what I thought about something, 10 times, but still end up doing whatever it was he originally thought," MacKensey Klarkowski said.

The two went back and forth, until she thought it had been hashed over enough.

"I finally said, 'You better just wear those tennis shoes, because you're going to have to run to catch that plane; you're going to be late," she said.

And so the morning of Feb. 4, Klarkowski laced on his athletic shoes. He took his son to school, and headed for Denver International Airport to board a flight to San Francisco. MacKensey Klarkowski claimed she rarely talked to him about his business affairs, and knew only that he planned to be back the next evening.

Pot deal gone bad

On Feb. 5, three men -- including one from Boulder -- were killed in Sonoma County, Calif., in what investigators have alleged was a botched marijuana deal. Three other men are facing murder charges in connection with the killings.

The victims:

Todd Klarkowski, 43, of Boulder, allegedly plotted with two others the purchase and transfer of 70 to 80 pounds marijuana from Sonoma County, Calif., to Colorado.

Richard Lewin, 46, of Huntington, N.Y., is alleged to have introduced Klarkowski to the alleged California pot seller, Raleigh Butler.

Raleigh Butler, 24, of North Lake Tahoe, Calif., was shot and killed along with Klarkowski and Lewin in his mother's rented home in Forestville, Calif.

The suspects:

Mark Cappello, 46, of Central City, was allegedly hired to help move the marijuana and was the alleged triggerman in the deaths of Klarkowski, Lewin and Butler.

Francis Dwyer, 65, of Truth or Consequences, N.M., was allegedly contracted to help move the marijuana; not alleged to have been present at the shootings.

Odin Dwyer, 38, of Black Hawk, was allegedly hired to help transport the marijuana, and leased a Westminster storage locker where the pot was recovered.

Klarkowski, 43, would be dead little more than 24 hours later.

The same day that Klarkowski flew west, Raleigh Butler, 24, a passionate snowboarder and heavy metal devotee from Sebastopol, Calif. -- who of late had been living in North Lake Tahoe -- called his grandmother to wish her happy birthday, just as his mother, Leslie King, had reminded him to do.

"And he did leave a really nice, cheerful loving message for her," King said. She described the younger of her two sons as "charismatic, magnanimous, kind and generous with everything he did and felt. A real leader in the way of the heart."

The day after calling his grandmother, Butler would die alongside Klarkowski and another man, 46-year-old Richard Lewin, of Huntington, N.Y. All were shot in the head at close range in a bedroom at the home of Butler's mother -- she was away at the time -- in Forestville, a small community in California's Sonoma County.

The three men were killed execution-style in what investigators believe was an alleged plot to move 70 to 80 pounds of pot from California to Colorado.

The crime shocked those who know both the victims and the suspected triggerman, and served as a reminder that even as states such as Colorado and California take steps to legalize marijuana, the illegal drug trade remains robust -- and deadly.

"I would say you could consider it something of a classic double-cross, " said an investigator familiar with the case who asked not to be named.

'One of those people who liked to laugh'

Mark William Cappello was well known to many around Central City. He held a seat on the town's Historic Preservation Commission, appointed to that advisory board in December 2010.

In a town that enjoys National Historic District status, that panel's duties carry some weight. And so City Clerk Reba Bechtel, like a lot of other people, was familiar with Cappello.

"He was one of those people who liked to laugh," Bechtel said. "I would say he encouraged laughter. He was generally an outgoing type."

Less than a mile from her office, on East Third High Street, overlooking the oldest and the newest in this gaming town, sits Cappello's home, now empty and locked up tight.

A ragged American flag continues to flap from a pole in a corner of the yard. On the front of his home is a historical marker that is testimony to Cappello's irreverent streak. It reads: "On this site in 1897 nothing happened."

Just one block higher up the hill, John Friery, 75, can see the roof of his friend Cappello's home from his own property. Perched in a cage in the living room of Friery's place -- the core of his well lived-in residence dates back to 1882 -- sits Cappello's Brazilian canary, "Rooster." Friery, known as Curly to his friends, for his bald pate, is tasked with caring for the bird while Cappello is away.

Cappello, 46, sits in the Sonoma County Jail, along with two alleged accomplices, 38-year-old Odin Dwyer of Black Hawk, and his father, Francis Dwyer, 65, of Truth or Consequences, N.M. They're each charged with first-degree murder in the deaths of Klarkowski, Butler and Lewin.

Because the killings during a suspected marijuana deal were allegedly committed for financial gain, during a burglary and while lying in wait, Cappello -- believed to be the one who pulled the trigger -- could face the death penalty.

All three have pleaded not guilty. Their preliminary hearing is scheduled for Tuesday in Santa Rosa, Calif.

Investigators believe Lewin and Klarkowski hired Cappello -- who, in turn, brought in the Dwyers -- to drive to California, where the pot would be purchased from Butler, and transport it back. That plan was hatched in Colorado, according to court documents.

The felony complaint alleges that Cappello killed the trio on Feb. 5, and that he and the Dwyers then fled back east with the drugs loaded into plastic bins. Most of the marijuana was recovered in mid-February from a Westminster self-storage locker allegedly leased by Odin Dwyer.

Basurto would not discuss whether any money was recovered, or, if so, where. He also did not disclose the amount of cash involved, although one investigator said the price likely fell in the range of $1,700 to $2,500 per pound.

The alleged murder weapon, a .45 caliber semi-automatic handgun, was discovered by investigators in a Sonoma County creek bed.

Cappello was arrested in a traffic stop on Valentine's Day, driving across Alabama in his 1995 Ford Bronco. Odin Dwyer -- who worked two years ago as a line cook at the Lazy Dog in Boulder -- was apprehended a short time later in Adams County, while Francis Dwyer was collared in New Mexico.

"I'm Mark's friend," said Friery, whose driveway was repaired last year by Cappello and Odin Dwyer. Last fall, Cappello also paid $240, cash, for a cord of wood to fuel the old stove at one end of Friery's living room.

"I was his friend before this, I'm his friend now, and I'll be his friend, no matter," Friery added.

Friery adamantly pointed out nothing has been proven yet in court, and his friend should for now be presumed innocent. But at times, a note of doubt entered into his recollections.

"He had to be a real sociopath and psychopath to take a gun and shoot three people," Friery said of Cappello. "So I am either missing something or... I'm hoping and praying he's not guilty."

Marijuana aficionados in Colorado celebrated last November when the state's voters decisively approved Amendment 64, legalizing the recreational use of pot and clearing the way for its highly regulated commercial availability.

Many Colorado communities subsequently exercised their right to disallow recreational pot businesses, including Superior, which enacted an outright ban, and Erie, where a moratorium recently was extended through 2014. Boulder, meanwhile, in September passed a moratorium on new marijuana businesses until Jan. 2.

Recreational and medical use of pot, however, remains illegal under federal law. That conflict has fostered significant confusion in all corners.

Boulder resident Kaz Qamruddin is a personal trainer and one of the 100-plus friends of Klarkowski's who attended a celebration of his life earlier this year at the now-defunct Laudisio's restaurant. He underscored that confusion in his remarks when asked whether he was surprised at allegations that Klarkowski died while attempting to procure a large amount of marijuana to bring back to Colorado.

"No, because it's legal here in Colorado and it's legal in California," Qamruddin said. "We're looking at two legal businesses. It might as well have been two gas stations, a gas station in this state, and a gas station in that state. It's, like, two taxable commodities."

When it was pointed out that California has legalized marijuana for medical use only, he shrugged, and said, "When you live here, you think things might be the same there."

"I couldn't believe it, when I heard he had died like that, I can't figure it out," said his friend Tavio Laudisio, who remembered Klarkowski as "no saint," but kind, calm and generous. "Who the hell is going to kill someone over something like this? They're both legal, in both states. It's beyond me."

A Sonoma County sheriff's deputy puts up crime scene tape across the driveway of a home in Forestville, Calif., the day after the Feb. 5 triple homicide that claimed the lives of Boulder resident Todd Klarkowski and two others in what investigators have alleged was a marijuana deal gone bad. (Scott Manchester / The Press Democrat)

'The whole thing is just an absolute mess'

One irony concerning the tragedy that claimed the three men's lives in Sonoma County is that, increasingly, Colorado is actually a significant exporter of marijuana. According to the Drug Enforcement Administration, 31/2 tons of Colorado weed were seized in 2012 that were intended for distribution in other states.

Tom Gorman, director of the Rocky Mountain High Intensity Drug Trafficking Area, a joint effort of state and federal authorities in Colorado, Utah, Wyoming and Montana, acknowledged the confusion.

"The whole thing is just an absolute mess," he said. "I've never seen anything like this in more than 40 years of law enforcement."

The incertitude expressed by Klarkowski's friends echoes what Gorman said authorities hear out on Interstate 70 and other corridors used by traffickers.

"We've seen that on some of the stops -- 'But it's legal in Colorado and I'm just using it for myself' -- there're all kinds of things people say," Gorman said. "And you don't always know for sure whether they are -- I hate to say this word -- idiots, or whether they are legitimately confused."

Basurto, the Sonoma County sheriff's sergeant, said investigators don't believe there was any confusion over the law in the deal alleged to have been struck between Klarkowski, Lewin and Butler.

"My personal belief is that they did know what they were doing, and they knew what the law was," Basurto said.

Moving marijuana from California to Colorado, as Klarkowski and Lewin allegedly had planned to do with Cappello and the Dwyers' help, remains commonplace, Gorman said, But, he pointed out, nothing in Amendment 64 permits what the men were allegedly up to.

"Amendment 64 only gives people to the right to grow it in Colorado, not the right to grow outside of Colorado and bring it in from another state," Gorman said. "You would be subject not only to federal prosecution, but also in that other state."

He then added that an individual also would be prosecutable in Colorado if the amount is more than one ounce.

The split between federal and state enforcement attitudes around marijuana softened significantly Aug. 29, when U.S. Attorney Eric Holder said the Justice Department would not stand in the way of state-regulated recreational pot commerce, such as that approved by voters in Colorado and the state of Washington.

But the politics of marijuana are not of much interest to some of those affected by the February shootings.

"This wasn't about marijuana," said King, Butler's mother. "It was about greed. The guy who killed them wanted whatever was there. People don't get killed over marijuana. It's legal there, it's pretty much legal here.

"It's not about marijuana. It's about a bad guy and greed. Clearly, it's about greed."

Francis Dwyer, left, appears in Sonoma County Superior Court with his lawyer, Walter Rubenstein, after being extradited from New Mexico last May. Dwyer is one of three men charged with murder in the Feb. 5 drug-related killings of Boulder resident Todd Klarkowski and two others in Northern California. (Conner Jay / The Press Democrat)

'He didn't see it as a drug, in a legal sense'

Klarkowski's record supports his friend Laudisio's remark that he was "no saint."

He was arrested on state drug charges in 1999, and served six months in prison, according to Colorado court records. That was followed by a federal conviction in 2004 for "knowingly and intentionally distributing a mixture or substance containing a detectable amount of cocaine," according to U.S. Bureau of Prisons spokesman Ed Ross. For that, he served 10 months at the Federal Correctional Institution in Englewood, from which he was released in April 2005.

MacKensey Klarkowski said it wasn't long after his release that she met the man with whom she would spend the next eight years of her life.

Like several others who knew him, she said Klarkowski talked often of a gold mining operation he was launching in Guyana. And she claimed that while she knew he had an interest in the growing of marijuana, she didn't know anything about any trafficking activities.

"He didn't see it as a drug, in a legal sense. He saw it as a tool for healing. A lot of people do. That doesn't dismiss the fact that the government doesn't," she said. "His death, to me, wasn't over marijuana. It was over money."

The trio's deaths, in the eyes of Raleigh Butler's father, tore away a gauzy veneer that for many has softened the public perception of what, beyond the framework of a few states' recent changes in law, remains a criminal enterprise.

"I think, perhaps like people in your community, people here (in Sonoma County) were quite shocked by what happened," said Bob Butler, "even though a lot of young people and older people are involved with the recreational growing of marijuana and even the business to some degree.

"I think this incident made a lot of people aware of the high level of risk that they may have been in denial about."

Butler, a licensed clinical social worker in Petaluma, Calif., said he had no idea his son had any involvement in drug trafficking, and, eight months after the deaths, added that, "It was, to my understanding... somewhat incidental, and something that he kind of got swept up in -- probably because there was a lot of motivation to do so, or encouragement to do so, or, it's easy. He wouldn't have identified that as his primary occupation, by any means."

Noting that his son did something in the neighborhood of 80 skydives in the last year of his life, Butler said the young man's true profession was "fun and adventure."

Butler recalled a compassionate young man whose empathy was honed in part by narrowly surviving the tsunami of 2004 that struck off the coast of Indonesia, while on a family vacation to Ko Lanta, Thailand.

"He was aware of how fortunate he was to have survived, and have his family and loved ones survive, and also be able to return home to a nice developed part of the world where that kind of devastation was the last thing anybody was having to deal with, that year," Butler said.

A Sonoma County sheriff's deputy holds up crime scene tape the day after the Feb. 5 triple homicide in Forestville, Calif., that claimed the life of Boulder resident Todd Klarkowski in what investigators allege was a botched pot deal. (Scott Manchester / The Press Democrat)

'Nothing really surprises me anymore'

Cappello, with business interests in Florida and Brazil, had a brief criminal record prior to being charged with fatally shooting three people point blank. In 2001, he pleaded no contest to a single count of battery in Lee County, Fla., serving eight days and paying a $150 fine plus court costs.

He took up residence in Central City just a few years ago -- he has other family in Colorado -- and for the past three years was sitting on the town's historic preservation commission and making friends there.

"That was a surprise, when I first heard that, number one, he was involved in a murder," Central City police Chief Terry Krelle said. "And, also, that it involved drug trafficking. I was like, 'Hmm, well, OK.' I've been doing this for close to 30 years and nothing really surprises me anymore."

"This is a surprising case," agreed Walter Rubenstein, the court-appointed lawyer for Francis Dwyer. "Mr. Cappello has been accused of shooting three people. That seems to be a little bit of a jump."

One of Cappello's better acquaintances was Jeff Aiken, a bartender at Central City's EZ Street Casino, and neighbor. His dog and Cappello's dog, Aiken said, had become "best friends."

"He knew all about water systems," Aiken said of Cappello. "He was into the history. He was into the old photographs."

Noting that there are numerous historic preservation issues currently on the front burner in the town of under 1,000 people, Aiken said, "I've told him he picked a really bad time to not be around. He knew how to get things done."

One friend said Cappello held a conceal-carry weapon permit, which authorities would not confirm or refute. Aiken recalled that Cappello had guns, and had shown him "one of those AK rifles."

Still, pausing in his work behind the bar one day late this summer, Aiken expressed continuing disbelief.

"I think I knew him as well as anybody," Aiken said. "This whole thing is just so bizarre. You think you know somebody. I guess you never really know anybody."

Sonoma County sheriff's deputies work the scene of a triple homicide in Forestville, Calif., in February the day after Boulder resident Todd Klarkowski and two others were killed execution-style in what investigators have alleged was a marijuana deal gone wrong. (Scott Manchester / The Press Democrat)

'I know who my husband was'

And for those acquainted with Klarkowski, there remains a potent stew of sentiment -- mostly regret, and sadness. Qamruddin recalled him as a "super-committed" father, who was always putting time with his son ahead of anything else.

"He was a really good dad. That's the worst part," Qamruddin said. "The better part of (his son's) years, entering the adult world, with someone to teach him all about food, culture, wine, business, people, it would have really been a blessing in (his son's) life, as he grew older.

"Todd would have been a really cool dad."

Klarkowski's sister, Laura Nelson, wrote in an email that no one was more important to him than his son, whom he called "Junior," and loved "fiercely." She described her brother as personable, charismatic, "with a wicked sense of humor."

"He was a dreamer, and had big plans for the rest of his life, and the lives of those he loved," Nelson wrote. "He had an entrepreneurial spirit and the kind of energy and motivation that was sure to make all of his dreams come true."

MacKensey Klarkowski, his common-law wife -- she is not the mother of his son, and does not have custody -- is aware many people will never accept her claims that she was unaware of where he was going, and what he was doing, when he was killed.

"I never knew any of the people who were involved," she said. "When I was interviewed by the police, they asked, 'Look at this picture'" of Raleigh Butler. "I used to work up at CU. He looked like half of the kids up there."

And in hours of conversations, she also voiced contradictions.

"If you know the truth, and you know how you feel about somebody, nobody is going to break that down," she said. But, moments later, she added, "I had a fabulous relationship with my husband. I had an honest relationship with my husband -- or, as honest as it could be, given what I have now found out."

MacKensey Klarkowski's bottom line: "I know who my husband was, and how much he adored his son and how much he loved me. And that's all that really matters to me."

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